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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26589427">"First-Rate Fruit"</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/zodesune/pseuds/zodesune'>zodesune</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aged-Up Character(s), Black Character(s), Black Girl Reader - Freeform, Breeding Kink, Cock Warming, College, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, F/M, Farmer Ushijima Wakatoshi, Finger Sucking, Flirting, Multiple Orgasms, Pro Volleyball Player Ushijima Wakatoshi, Public Sex, Reader-Insert, Size Kink, Tendou is a good friend, Ushiwaka's Canon Breeding Kink, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 13:15:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,017</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26589427</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/zodesune/pseuds/zodesune</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"An excellent seedling needs suitably excellent soil. It can't yield first-rate fruit on barren land." - Ushijima Wakatoshi and his canon breeding kink.</p><p>When you first caught the handsome and intimidating Ushiwaka staring at your ass, you never thought it would lead to a blossoming relationship with some very unexpected kinks. </p><p>When Tendō introduces you to 'Farmer Ushi' at a house party in a posh suburb of Tokyo, you are surprised by how much Ushiwaka knows about you, the way he looks at you--no, craves you--and the things he does to your body. One of those things makes your heart race faster than you ever thought possible, especially when the door to the balcony slides open and a group of your friends come out, armed with snacks and drinks; they plan to stay for a while. How long can you sit on Ushi's lap before someone realises what's happening between you?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ushijima Wakatoshi/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>331</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. How We Met.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He’s staring at your ass. Again. </p><p>That’s how you first knew something was up—no pun intended—because whenever he thought no one was paying attention, Ushijima Wakatoshi would stare at your ass. </p><p>And it’s a great ass. Not the type you see on every second influencer nowadays, sure, but your ass is great in its own unique way, and you know exactly how to dress to flatter it. </p><p>Now, you stand to the side of the makeshift dance floor at your friend-of-a-friend’s party, beneath a glowing neon sign. The subversively furnished luxury apartment is in Shōtō, a posh neighbourhood in Shibuya-ku that you never knew existed before today. The air is thick with the smell of spilled sake, stale smoke, and unstated desire. When you stand near the corners of the emptied living room, you catch the lingering aroma of Kyarawood, the most expensive incense sold in Japan. It only confirms what you already know: these folks are <em>rich</em> rich.</p><p>Through the mirror that lines a wall of the two-storey apartment, you can very clearly see Ushiwaka staring at your plump cheeks like he wants to take a bite of them. </p><p>It appears you aren’t the only one who noticed. The host, a walking scarecrow of a man with brilliantly red hair and an ever-drunk demeanour, catches your eye in the mirror. He flicks his gaze to Ushiwaka, then back to you and winks. You hide your face behind your cup and look away. Too late. Tendō is already walking over to you. </p><p>“Aren’t you the one who wrote that article about potatoes?” he asks, throwing you completely off-guard. You splutter for a moment, narrowly avoiding inhaling your drink, and nod. As a senior writer for the school’s top zine, you were tasked in the middle of the semester to write a motivational piece, something to get everyone out of the post-mid-terms slump. You wondered how you would possibly motivate a student body who had just declared their unofficial mascot to be ‘the couch potato’. Cheeriness and pep would get you absolutely nowhere. </p><p>The idea came when you were mixing a giant jug of drinks for your housemates’ chill session: vodka was made of potatoes. Your eye flicked to the counter, where the midnight order of McNugget Meals had been plonked on the table. French fries were made of potatoes. Potatoes could become so many things, therefore there was absolutely nothing wrong with being a potato, because the humble little tuber root contained a world of potential! </p><p>You titled your piece ‘I am a sexual potato’ and detailed your aspirations of evolving to a more refined, sexual potato-product, like hash browns. The article went viral, and even now, at the end of the semester, readers sometimes come up to you and declare that they have become a sexual battery or sexual tater tots. One guy even accosted you at the campus coffee shop to describe his desire to transform into industrial wood glue, in explicit detail. After that, you replaced your zine bio with an avatar from picrew.</p><p>“Yeah, I am,” you smile now. “What kind of sexual potato are you?” You can’t help but play along with the charismatic party host. </p><p>“Hello, my name is Tendō and I am sexual vodka,” he answers, giving you a very serious handshake. You cock your head to the side and gave him a doubtful once-over. You can nearly see him shiver with glee at a new person to lark about with.</p><p>“I don’t believe you,” you answer. “Vodka looks like water, doesn’t smell like anything. It isn’t the life of a party, it’s unremarkable and kind of an asshole. I’m not buying it, not for you,” you surmise.</p><p>“Well what would I be?” he asks, subtly leading you towards the balcony, closer to where Ushiwaka sits. Your heart starts to pound louder than the music coming from upstairs, but you try to keep a relaxed smile on your face.</p><p>“I think you would be a tornado potato: you’re an endless whirlwind of motion, with bursts of flavour in between. I know I don’t know you much, but I’ve seen you spinning around campus, and if your apartment is anything to go by, I’d say I’m not far off.”</p><p>Tendō places a hand to his chest and genuinely looks as though he might cry. </p><p>“I’m honoured, thank you,” he blinks back tears dramatically. By now you are steps away from Ushiwaka, whose gaze slides languidly between the two of you. It seems he is hardly fazed by Tendō’s … well, everything. In the light glowing through the red sheets affixed over every bulb, his eyes glow like garnet gems, making your breath stop when they meet yours. The corner of his mouth curls. You don’t know what to do with yourself.</p><p>“I wonder what kind of sexual potato this guy would be,” Tendō cackles, slapping a hand onto Ushiwaka’s shoulders. Ushiwaka looks up at Tendō from his seat in the arm chair, his eyebrows rising into his hairline, breaking the spell he had on you. It comes right back when he gets up from his chair, and you take in his towering height from up close. </p><p>“Potato, meet Farmer. Farmer, meet Potato,” Tendō grins. “Now don’t you go ploughing in my soil, you two. I’ll be back with refills,” he wags a spindly finger and skips off.</p><p>“Why are you ‘Farmer’?—”</p><p>“What does he mean by ‘potato’?” you both ask at the same time, chuckling politely to let the other person finish. A hesitant moment of hand gestures happens, making you chuckle again. You feel a little less flustered knowing that he’s not so cool and collected either. </p><p>“I wrote an article about sexual potatoes a few months back, for the campus zine,” you begin.</p><p>“Ah. I read that,” Ushiwaka nods.</p><p>“It—wait, are you serious?” your eyes widen.</p><p>“Yeah,” he looks at you as though your shock confuses him. “We can read, you know, the Resident Himbos,” he teases without a smile, quoting another article you wrote about the school’s sports-worship culture. </p><p>“You’ve actually read my work?” you gasp. How could it possibly be that one of the most well-known and intimidating faces on campus, an actual player on a national team, had taken the time to read your articles?</p><p>“I find them amusing,” he explains.</p><p>“In a good way or a bad way?” you wince.</p><p>“In a good way,” he smiles. “To answer your question, Tendō calls me Farmer Ushi because I tend to use farm-like metaphors, not that I ever noticed until he pointed it out.”</p><p>“That is so…”</p><p>“Weird?” he chuckles. “So I have been told.”</p><p>“No, not weird,” you grin. “I wanted to say ‘charming’, but I thought it might be too much.”</p><p>“Well, I disagree on charming, but you should never hold back on what you want to say to me,” he responds, the resonance of his deep voice sending waves coursing down your skin.</p><p>“Are you in the habit of rejecting compliments?” you ask, crossing your arms as you command your body to behave itself.</p><p>“Are you in the habit of giving them?” he hits you right back, a mischievous glint in his eye.</p><p>“Only when they are well deserved,” you smile, emboldened by his flirtatious tone. “So, if I told you that I find you attractive, would you deny it?”</p><p>“That is not a debatable opinion,” he responds. The look of delighted surprise on your face makes him blush ever-so-slightly. “What I mean to say is, if you find me attractive, I cannot deny or confirm it. It is your mental state, not a subjective statement,” he fumbles, though fumbling for him looks far more calm than you could ever hope to be.</p><p>“I see,” you tap your finger on your chin, noticing the way his gaze lingers just above it. “Then, if I said that you are the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes on, would you deny it?”</p><p>“Absolutely,” he answers firmly. “Nonetheless, I feel the same way about you,” he states, his voice as warm and sturdy as an oak tree, so deep it makes your toes curl. This man might be your undoing.</p><p>As the night wears on, you find yourself leaning closer as he talks. The music has gotten steadily louder over the course of the evening, and his deep voice is often drowned out by the beat. In any other apartment, the party would have been interrupted at least twice by local police giving a warning, but apparently Tendō’s father is in one of Japan’s more famous rock bands (hence the sheer size of the two-storey apartment) and had been soundproofed thoroughly so that he could practice the drums at full intensity. With both parents graciously away for the weekend, he has taken full advantage of the acoustics for his birthday celebration. </p><p>At one point, you lean in so close that you can feel Ushiwaka’s breath upon your neck. When you turn your head to reply in his ear, for a moment your faces cross and you flirt with the idea of closing the distance between your lips. At that moment, the song changes and you hear a familiar screech. Abi, your closest friend, the one who invited you to the party, is rushing across the dance floor to find you. As much as you don’t want to leave your perch beside him, this song is your jam.</p><p>Abi pulls you up, refusing to take no as an answer, and drags you to the middle of the floor. You look back at Ushiwaka and mouth ‘sorry!’ He lifts his cup to assure you that he’s alright. </p><p>“Abs, could you not see me vibing with the sexiest man at this party? Why do you do this to me?”</p><p>Abi presses her mouth to your ear, a few strands of her curly afro sticking to your lipgloss. “Well, don’t look, but he’s staring at your ass again, so why don’t you give him a show?”</p><p>Now, you were a teen in the time before twerking took off. You’re built different. You still remember turning up the volume when Pon de Replay came on TV, and learning how to wine all the way to the floor. You can put on a show.</p><p>You start small, twisting your hips to the rhythm as you hold your hands up near your head. One too many family reunions make you snap your fingers when you dance, and you tell yourself off—<em>you’re not an auntie at a cookout</em>. When the bass deepens, you lose yourself in the buzz of being drunk, young, and possibly in love on an endless night in the city. </p><p>Beside you, Abi is rolling her body up and down Tendō. The two of them grind as though no one else exists in the world, and you smile at the look of pure joy upon his face. You would part your thighs and corkscrew your hips all the way to the floor if it weren’t for the length of your dress. Instead you circle your hips and twist your waist, running your fingertips from your thighs to your ass, to your breasts, to your neck and back down again, imagining how good it would feel to have Ushiwaka’s hands all over your body instead. </p><p>You throw the occasional glance to the man, who doesn’t seem to have taken his eyes off you. You start to work up the confidence to call him over, when two of his friends arrive, one of them pulling him into a bear hug and the other standing peevishly to the side. They walk towards the back of the house, leaving him behind for a moment. He catches your eye and mouths ‘I’ll be outside,’ gesturing with a long, large finger. You nod and turn back to the dance floor, hoping to dance all the horny energy out of your body.</p><p>Some time later, you find him out on the terrace, talking to a man in a face mask. The balcony is long and rectangular, with a built-in jacuzzi and a pod-like daybed on one end, and a circle of rattan loungers on the other. The air is pleasant for late-May, with a slight chill in the air. To the left, you can see the glowing trees of Yoyogi park and to the right, the distant neon lights of Shibuya. You vaguely recognise the curly-haired man across from Ushiwaka, presumably a volleyball player.</p><p>“Ushiwaka-kun,” he gestures with his chin. “I think someone is looking for you.”</p><p>Ushiwaka turns to find you standing in the doorway, and a gentle smile spreads across his face. For a moment, you wish that you could see him smile like that until the end of time, just for you. It must be the peach chuhai talking. </p><p>He beckons you over to where they are seated. As you turn to close the door, you nearly bump into a tall, ochre-haired student carrying a six pack of whiskey highball. </p><p>“Oh, on your left,” he smiles, closing the door behind you both. “It’s a bit chilly out here, huh?” he shakes his shoulders, laughing as he makes his way over to the group. You follow hesitantly, wondering whether it would be too awkward to head back inside.</p><p>“Guys, this is Y/N,” Ushiwaka says, deciding for you. You cross the long balcony to the group of chairs in the corner. “She is a brilliant writer for the biggest publication at our school. This is Sakusa Kiyoomi, a friend of mine on the Jackals, and this is Motoya Komori from the Paper Mills. Sakusa goes to Chuo, but Motoya studies here too; you are both in the same year,” he explains, his voice warm and encouraging. You dip your head to both players with a smile. Motoya begins to move his jacket and backpack from the empty space beside him, but you smile and shake your head, instead perching on the arm of Ushi’s chair. </p><p>“Are you comfortable there?” he asks, placing a light hand on your waist. You nod, but his touch makes you shiver.</p><p>“It <em>is</em> a bit nippy out here, isn’t it?” you rub your arms, trying to pass it off as a sudden chill. In mere seconds, Ushiwaka has his sweater off, insisting you take it. You hesitate, catching Sakusa eyeing you curiously.</p><p>“Won’t you be cold?” you ask. </p><p>“Ushiwaka-kun is like a furnace,” Sakusa’s voice surprises you from behind his mask. You don the jumper, a knitted piece of heaven so large that it sits over your thighs, which were barely covered by your skirt in the first place. The fabric is soft and warm, tickling your nose with the earthy scent of sage and vetiver, and the lightest touch of bergamot.</p><p>“A drink?” Motoya offers.</p><p>“I probably shouldn’t drink a whole one,” you chuckle. “I just downed quite a bit inside, I’m waiting for it to hit me.”</p><p>“We can share,” Ushiwaka cracks his can open, holding it out to you. “If it doesn’t bother you.”</p><p>As you thank him, you feel Sakusa’s eyes on you, and when you take a sip, he audibly clenches.</p><p>“We all know it would bother you, Sakusa,” Ushiwaka shakes his head fondly. “My friend here hates germs, would rather die of thirst than sip from a used can.”</p><p>“You should meet my friend,” you giggle, “she’s the cleanest person I know. Not a germaphobe, but definitely wouldn’t touch a sniffing toddler with a ten foot pole. She goes to Chuo too, funnily enough.” </p><p>As the hour passes, you enjoy talking with the boys, resting your feet that ache in your heeled boots. You can feel the rumble in his chest every time Ushiwaka laughs, and you are surprised at how often it happens. From the numerous times you had seen him on campus, he always seemed stoic and reserved. When he laughs and smiles, it doesn’t fill his face but you can tell it comes from a place deep within his chest. A part of you wants to curl up in it, warm and comforted by the rumbling purr.</p><p>At a quarter to two, Motoya and Sakusa decide to head out. Though the party is still in full swing, Motoya sighs, “Man, you know what they say: nothing good ever happens after two.”</p><p>They both bid you goodbye, promising to find you online and read one of your articles. You smile at the feeling of new friends before shooting a quick text to Abi, asking where she is. In return, she sends you a blurred selfie of her face buried between what appears to be Tendō’s arm and bare chest. </p><p><em>Upstairs,</em> she texts back with a wink.</p><p>“Are you still cold?” Ushiwaka asks. “We can go back inside.”</p><p>“A little bit, but I like it out here,” you answer quietly, your heart rate suddenly skipping around your chest. “With you,” you add, sending it shooting up into the sky like a heart-shaped rocket. “Aren’t you cold?” you cover hastily.</p><p>“Not at all,” he answers. “Sakusa was right about me—sometimes it feels like I have a fire cracking away inside of me.” You reach over and place a hand against his neck.</p><p>“You’re so warm!” you exclaim.</p><p>“And you’re freezing,” he rumbles, concern etched in every line on his brow. He places a broad hand over your own, and holds it there. When you sigh at the warm respite, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into his lap. </p><p>“Oh, wow,” you melt into his touch, at a loss for words.</p><p>“Better?” he asks. When you nod, he wraps his arms tighter. You feel the firm swell of each muscle around your frame, and the soft skin of his neck against your forehead as you snuggle into his chest. If you weren’t so charged up, you could fall asleep like this.</p><p>You feel him shift beneath you, tilt his head lower. You lift yours a fraction. Slowly, you edge towards each other until your lips almost touch.</p><p>“I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he rumbles, and the reverberations send heat rushing to your core. You lift your chin and kiss him, deeply, not bothering to hold back all the desire that has been building within you. His lips are soft, fuller than you expected them to feel, and when he pulls back only to kiss you all over again, you feel as though you are falling through cotton clouds. If his mouth is this sublime, you can only imagine how the rest of him must be. </p><p>As his tongue flickers out to part your lips, you open for him, running your fingers through his hair because you fear that you might fall off the earth. When you clutch his hair tighter, Ushiwaka groans—<em>groans</em>—into your mouth. You want to tear at his clothes and touch every inch of his body, to find out every little thing that makes him moan and groan and <em>growl</em>. Every sensible part of you knows that you should wait, until you’re not at a party, until you’re not tipsy, until you’re in the privacy of your apartment, or his. </p><p>“You taste delicious,” he murmurs between mouthfuls of you. All sense flies out the window. Sliding your hand between your bodies, you palm the swell of his cock. Ushiwaka exhales as though he has been straining to hold something back, and you immediately feel him harden beneath you. Oh. <em>Oh.</em> Ushijima Wakatoshi is gifted in more ways than one.</p><p>“Can I touch your hair?” he breathes. The moment you nod, he runs his broad fingers through your box braids, twisting them between the digits until he has a firm grip on you. With his other hand holding your hips down, he grinds against you, desperate for friction. You moan, spinning your hips in circles in time with his thrusts.</p><p>“I saw you do this on the dance floor,” he growls, peppering your neck with heated kisses. “I didn’t realise you could do it to me.”</p><p>“Ushijima, you don’t know half of the things I want to do to you,” you breathe.</p><p>Ushijima’s lips find yours again, his hot, hungry kisses turning you into a furnace as fiery as his own. You curse, wishing you had worn jeans, so that you could straddle his lap and grind him like fufu. That is, until he slides his deft fingers beneath the hem of your skirt. You hitch it higher until it sits around your waist. Peering around to make sure there are no eyes in unsuspecting places, Ushijima shifts your underwear to the side and strokes a finger down your folds. With the jumper still over your legs, to the casual observer indoors, it would be impossible to see the way Ushijima is making you melt upon his fingers.</p><p>“Fuck,” he grunts, marvelling at how wet you are. He slides a single finger into you with ease, but the sting of the second finger feels better than any stretch you’ve ever had. You keep swivelling your hips, riding his fingers, coating his hand in your slick. When he pulls them out you whine and bite his lip, but the moment you feel his fingers circle your clit, nothing else matters. </p><p>“Lower,” you gasp, and Ushijima obliges attentively, repeating a motion whenever he makes you twitch in his arms. In spite of both your clumsy ventures of discovering an unfamiliar body, you start to develop a rhythm. Ushijima alternates between stroking your walls and circling your clit, switching every time your pleasure rises close enough to make you moan. He hasn’t forgotten that anyone could walk out any minute, but with every new sigh he pulls from your lips, he finds it harder to care. </p><p>The final time he slides his fingers into your throbbing pussy, he curves them and pulses on the fleshy spot that makes you want to scream. With his thumb pressed firmly upon the side of your clit, he brings an orgasm crashing over you like a sudden thunderstorm. You feel the rumble in his chest as he covers your neck in kisses, relishing in your pleasure just as much as you are. </p><p>When you come down, feeling drenched and replenished, your lips stinging like they were struck by a small bolt of lighting, the look of dark, unfiltered desire in his eyes ramps you up all over again. You lean forward and kiss the skin beneath his ear, savouring the shiver that runs up him.</p><p>“I want you inside me,” you whisper, before nipping at the lobe. “Right now, right here.” The thrill of being so bold has you craving more, more pleasure, more danger, and definitely more of him.</p><p>“I don’t have a condom on me,” he frowns, looking disappointed with the universe itself. </p><p>“Shit,” you hiss, placing a hand to your forehead as if it will cool your raging desire. “Shit,” you curse again. “Are you safe?” you ask, knowing that the athletes on campus get a mandatory blood test every semester. Ushijima nods. </p><p>“I don’t usually do this,” he ekes out, “I’m not that kind of guy,” he offers as a stilted explanation. You mentally throw him a side eye, but gloss over it, understanding the meaning behind his awkward words.</p><p>“Neither do I, and I got checked after my last breakup,” you answer. </p><p>“Good,” he nods. “Not good that you broke up—well, it is good for me—not that I am assuming—” he pauses when you cup his cheeks in both hands. </p><p>You plant a soft kiss on his lips before you whisper, “I am on the pill. Fuck me right now.”</p><p>With a sharp shift further down his lap, you scrabble at his belt to no avail. He closes a warm fist over yours and gently moves it aside. Before you even finish breathing out, his jeans are open and he slides the waistband beneath his stallion of a dick, that rears its head to greet you. If your jaw could hit the floor, it would leave a dent. Thick, long, and curved ever-so-slighty to the left, his ridged and velvety cock looks like it could be the sample model for dildos. It’s a very pretty penis.</p><p>When you try to pull his jeans down, he stills your hands again.</p><p>“Too risky,” he grunts, grabbing at your hips to face you forwards so that you can plant your feet firmly between his. With your ass finally in his hands, he takes a moment to squeeze it as though he is committing the feeling to memory.  As you reach between your legs to fist his shaft, stroking the tip between your wet folds, you cast your voice over your shoulder.</p><p>“Do you have a thing for my ass, Ushijima? I’ve noticed you staring on more than one occasion.” </p><p>His arms turn to iron, and you peer over to see a mortified look in his eyes.</p><p>“I am deeply sorry,” he begins, but you cut him off.</p><p>“Don’t apologise. If I had a problem with it, I wouldn’t be sitting here about to ride you like my life depended on it.” Whatever smooth move you had been envisioning of dropping the line then dropping onto his cock is cut comically short by your inability to get it past your opening. In the cool air, your slick has already started drying on your skin, and getting him in is much slower than you expected.</p><p>“Wait,” he grunts, pushing you upwards with one hand and bringing the other to his mouth. Ushijima spits in his palm before rubbing it over his shaft and tip. The idea of it should make you shudder, but the look of determination on his face and the animalistic, carnal energy of seeing a gigantic man spit into his hand so he can fuck you raw, makes you want to cum on the spot. </p><p>You slide onto his shaft slowly, feeling the searing heat as he stretches out your walls. Slowly, you begin to ride him like you’re giving him a lap dance, your hands braced on his thighs to control your bounce. You hear a low gasp before he rolls back his head in ecstasy. Every time your hips tilt forwards, he presses against a delicious spot that makes your eyelids spasm and your jaw go slack. Just as you begin to pick up speed, you hear a clanking sound.</p><p>“There you are, Y/N!” comes a voice from above you. You might have thought it was an angel, if not for the drunken slur. You glance up to see Abi on a smaller balcony, waving frantically as the straps on her dress slide down her arms. Tendō appears behind her, looking equally as drunk and undressed. “We’ll be right down!” she calls.</p><p>In your panic, you clench down on Ushi, making him jolt as a moan forces itself out of his mouth. When you try to rise from his lap, he holds you still, instead sitting up and wrapping his arms around you. </p><p>“They are drunk,” he murmurs into your ear. “They will be in and out of here faster than the first rain, so stay here with me, just like this, please.” Ushijima presses kisses into your neck, making the weak protest you might have had wash away. You tug the jersey down and shift slightly, so that it looks as though you are merely cuddling on his lap, not warming his cock with your still-soaked cunt.</p><p>Moments later, the door slides open and Tendō and Abi pop out, trailed by a few other partygoers, carrying a feast’s worth of snacks and drinks between them. <em>Fuck. </em></p><p>As they lounge around you, passing drinks and jokes across the low table, you try your best to engage, even though the fluttering in your chest feels loud enough for everyone to hear. The amount of adrenaline whizzing through your veins should be enough to put you in a coma. In spite of your giggly nerves, you take any opportunity to rock or bounce upon Ushi’s lap, savouring the way he grips your waist or sighs quietly beside you. When he presses his face into your neck, it might look as though he is being affectionate, but the man is whispering all kinds of filth into your ear.</p><p>“You have no idea how good you feel,” he rumbles, making the cord in your core tighten. This is, by far, the hottest, most absurd thing you have ever done in your life. “I can’t wait to fill you up.” </p><p>You bite your lip, clamouring inside for everyone to leave. As inconspicuous as he can, Ushijima begins to rock his hips, thrusting into you. You look down to see whether his movements are obvious, but the shift is so slight you would miss it if you weren’t looking closely. Carefully, you wind into him, making every inch of your walls swirl around his shaft as you meet his slow thrusts. No one bats an eye at Ushiwaka’s quietness, but Abi keeps shooting you quizzical smiles and sly winks, trying to figure out what is going between the two of you.</p><p>“Baby, if you keep that up, I won’t be able to hold on much longer,” he sounds breathless, his voice dropping even lower. It only makes you feel more reckless. When you show no signs of stopping he growls, “I guess I’ll just have to cum inside you.”</p><p><em><b>You good babes?</b></em> A text vibrates on your phone, stopping you from abandoning all sense of dignity by moaning out loud.</p><p><em><b>S.O.S.</b> </em>you shoot back. Abi’s eyes widen across the group.</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>Do you need to get away from him?</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>No, I need you lot to get away from us!</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>Were you about to hookup?</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>We’re in the middle of one! </b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>WYM???</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>Abs, you have to promise not to screech. PROMISE. </b>
  </em>
</p><p>Across the circle, she subtly crosses her heart. Tendō looks suspiciously between the two of you.</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>His dick is literally inside me right now.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>When Tendō’s eyes clock the screen, he starts to holler, only for Abi to drive her long nails into the flesh of his thigh, turning it from a laugh to a yelp. The group stops, all turning to stare at him. </p><p>“I just got a text,” he begins, “a noise complaint from the old farts next door. We gotta head inside, folks,” he claps his hands. </p><p>After he herds the group inside, he throws Ushijima an incredibly delighted wink. Much to your surprise, Ushijima only rolls his eyes. Their relationship is fascinating, but you have no time to contemplate it, because the moment that Tendō slides the door shut Ushijima leans back, pulling your back against his rippling abs before he thrusts up into you like a drill. This time, you can’t help the moans and cries that come out every time he smacks your cervix. </p><p>“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” you repeat breathlessly like a mantra. When your second orgasm hits, you writhe in his lap, throwing your head over his shoulder. His kisses upon the exposed stretch of your neck turn to messy, open-mouthed gasping as he bites the skin right before his orgasm hits him. You feel his entire body tense beneath you, firm as an iron ship as he gives a soundless groan. You both collapse into the chair, which suddenly feels uncomfortable now that you’re no longer focused on fucking each other senseless. As you start to rise, he pulls you closer, burying his nose into your cocoa-scented hair. </p><p>“Wait a while,” he whispers.</p><p>“Don’t you want to clean up?” you ask, thinking about your ex who always bolted to the bathroom to wash his dick as soon as you were done. </p><p>“I don’t mind,” Ushijima murmurs. “I kind of like the feeling. If we had all night out here, I would make you mine all over again. I would love to see how beautiful you look in the sunrise,” he kisses your cheek. </p><p>“We shouldn’t,” you giggle, not knowing how serious he is.</p><p>“Why not? What is stopping us? Tendō already knows we are here. Perhaps we can go inside, get you warm and fed, then come back later so I can lay you on that daybed over there and fuck you as the sun rises,” he grins. “Then we take a nap upstairs, help Tendō clean up in the morning, go for breakfast with him and your friend—”</p><p>“And live happily ever after,” you tease, rolling your eyes at his ridiculous plan. </p><p>“Oh,” he stiffens beneath you, “you do not want to do this again,” he speaks quietly, releasing your waist.</p><p>“Do you?” you ask, grinding your teeth over your knuckle, your eyes as wide as saucers.</p><p>“Of course I do, Y/N,” he answers. “I could barely stop thinking about you before all this; I don’t know how I would be able to move on after. I would be a fool if I did not ask you to be with me.” </p><p>You fight to contain a smile before twisting around to press a soft kiss to his lips.</p><p>“This would be a very romantic moment if your dick wasn’t still inside me,” you whisper.</p><p>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</p><p>“How did we meet?” Wakatoshi sits up straighter, but his arm remains draped over the back of your seat. He tosses you a subtle look, and you swallow to hide your bashful smile.</p><p>“Well, there was this house party,” you begin, looking into the eyes of Wakatoshi’s surly teammate, whose girlfriend sits beside him. Kageyama Tobio looks mildly irritated, but from the smile that spreads across his face every time she touches him, he seems quite happy to be here on the double date you forced Wakatoshi to drag him into. Across from you, Mari leans forward, eager to hear the story.</p><p>“Yeah, when was the first time you laid eyes on each other?” her dark hair sits gently upon the table, and her bright eyes and brighter smile, set like gems upon her golden-brown skin—a combination of her Thai heritage and the summer sun—make you excited to tell the story for the very first time, although you do intend to cut out the more scandalous bits.</p><p>Wakatoshi cuts in before you continue. </p><p>“The first time I laid eyes on Y/N, it was a miserable day, must have been around March, and I was waiting for Hoshiumi so that we could walk to practice.”</p><p>You perk up and smile at him quizzically; this is news to you. </p><p>“Then I see this streak of yellow ploughing across campus like a tractor,” he continues. “There is this girl, her hair tied in a fluffy bun, dressed all in black, wearing the tightest black jeans I have ever seen,” he teases you, “except for this gigantic yellow scarf wrapped around her neck, and these bright yellow rain boots on her feet. What made me watch her go the whole way was that she had earphones in and she was listening to music with the brightest smile on her face. I thought someone who could bloom like a sunflower when everything around them was coarse and dull must be a very special person.” </p><p>Wakatoshi locks his fingers into yours, raising your hand to his mouth to plant a kiss upon it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Soil.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"An excellent seedling needs suitably excellent soil. It can't yield first-rate fruit on barren land." - Ushijima Wakatoshi and his canon breeding kink.</p><p>After an old lady gives you a weird compliment, Ushijima is ready to fight. Your boyfriend is like a dormant volcano: a towering, placid mountain with a molten lava core. It doesn't take much for you to turn his fiery energy from fighting to fucking, and Ushijima is not about to wait until you get home. You know he has some interesting kinks, but when he pulls you underneath the bleachers at an MSBY Jackals game, you find out just how filthy Ushiwaka can be.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I love this man so much. So unbearably much.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“That was a weird compliment.”</p><p>“Hmmm?” you look up as your boyfriend grunts, finding tension in his mouth and a frown dusting his brow. </p><p>“The woman earlier.  She said we would have ‘such beautiful caramel babies’. What does that mean?”</p><p>“Oh, well… I mean, I guess because your skin is light and mine is dark, if I got pregnant, our babies would be somewhere in the middle,” you explain, suddenly feeling flustered under the growing intensity of his gaze. Though you are comfortable in your relationship with him, after only one year, it feels far too soon to bring up a conversation about your future kids, especially not in your penultimate and his final year of college. “W-what?” you stammer. </p><p>“Was that not a…” he trails off in search of the word you had mentioned a few days before.</p><p>“A micro aggression?” you prompt. He nods, his eyes narrowing in the direction the elderly woman had long-departed. “I suppose so, but she meant well. If I got annoyed with every little comment like that, my blood pressure would be through the roof.”</p><p>Ushijima Wakatoshi looks down at you, concern etched on his face. This is all new to him; even after a year with you, it still strikes him how often comments and barbs are made, and how differently you are treated to him. </p><p>You have lived your entire life as a Black woman, something you discovered the meaning of at a painfully young age. By now, comments like that cascade down your brown skin as harmlessly as drizzle over the earth. Wakatoshi is nowhere near accustomed to it. You always feel him bristle, ready to contend with anyone who tries it. Whereas you shy away from confrontation, he is the living definition of ‘on sight,’ and though he has never gotten physical, his words could rip a person to shreds. </p><p>Being such a widely followed volleyball player, both internationally and here in Japan, when the news broke of your relationship, the deluge of comments had been startling, even for you. First came the shock - the media was startled to hear such a bold declaration from the usually tight-lipped national player. Then came the chaotic mix of excitement, pride, despair, outrage and hatred from his many demographics of fans. You had to make your social media private and block every troll and bully who slipped through. It was quite a scandal for a national icon to be involved with anyone, let alone a Black girl. If Ushiwaka had been a popstar rather than a sportsman, the nation would have lost its collective mind. </p><p>He learned a lot from you in those early days, from late night conversations curled up safely in his broad, Herculean arms, in which you shared stories about your past experiences, about the things that hurt you, the things that made you proud. </p><p>You turned to him, nearly drowning in the knitted cashmere sweater he had lent you, and told him, “Toshi, I guess it’s pretty late to be saying this, but you need to understand something. I am happy to be a Black woman, I wouldn’t change it for the world. But this world decided to make me pay for it, for reasons I will never understand. Sometimes it is going to be the only thing I want to talk about, and other times, I will not want to talk about it at all. If you’re going to be with me, you need to understand that, be willing to listen, give me hugs when I need them, and never invalidate me. Can you do that? I don’t want you to protect me, I just want you to be there for me. Be on my team.”</p><p>He did it anyway. Since that moment, since he decided that he wanted to be with you beyond a shadow of a doubt, he protected you like his happiness depended upon it. Perhaps, in some way, it did. Whenever he sensed your discomfort, he was by your side, sometimes physically shielding you with his own towering body. He was a formidable man and added to his blunt, no-holds-barred-and-no-feelings-spared demeanour, he had nearly landed himself in trouble on several occasions for unabashedly calling out bullshit that racists threw your way. </p><p>“She should not have said that. If I had understood what she meant, I would have told her so. You know that, right?” One thing not many people know about your boyfriend is how earnest and tender he is, your own gentle giant. </p><p>“I know, my love. And I’m not mad,” you break into a giggle, “I think our babies would be adorable. Little ‘caramel’ munchkins running around, though I reckon with you in the equation, they won’t be so little.”</p><p>The smile on Wakatoshi’s face can only be described as beatific. You have never seen such pure joy in his eyes. Desperate to keep that look on his face, you draw closer to him and begin to describe your future kids. </p><p>“I hope they have your eyes, I’ve always loved your eyes. They’re like <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.google.com.sg%2Fsearch%3Fq%3Dsphene%26client%3Dsafari%26hl%3Den-sg%26prmd%3Disvn%26source%3Dlnms%26tbm%3Disch%26sa%3DX%26ved%3D2ahUKEwjznqjL-IDqAhUFA3IKHZL1DgsQ_AUoAXoECBYQAQ%26biw%3D375%26bih%3D635%26dpr%3D3&amp;t=MzdiMGY5ZmQzMDYwNmYwNjQ4NTFmZDM0MGEyZmI5Zjc3Y2RmZjkwYSwxZDkxZTUyMDE3NmYwOTY5NzIwYTY0ZWJiZDVjMGE3ZDRjZGFhYjI4">polished titanite</a>, like glittery green-gold gems.”</p><p>“No,” he shakes his head. He has never been able to take a compliment, merely brushing it aside as though you told him the sky is green. “Your eyes are beautiful. Almond eyes.” Wakatoshi gazes down at you, cupping your face. The pad of his thumb traces up and down your cheek bone. </p><p>“Their hair would be cute and curly,” you breathe, feeling drawn towards him like a moon to gravity’s pull. </p><p>“Like yours?”</p><p>“No,” you frown quizzically. He looks disappointed. </p><p>“I love your hair,” he murmurs, bringing his other hand to the base of your neck, where he can slip his fingers into your bouncy afro without fear of hurting you, or messing up the freshly-fluffed halo of tight curls. Very few people have permission to touch your hair unbidden, and he relishes the privilege. </p><p>“It would still be pretty! At least it would make my job a little easier, I can’t imagine having to comb my stubborn hair and theirs,” you giggle. </p><p>“I would help,” he smiles. “They would be <em>our</em> kids, unless you want to hog them like you hog the bed,” he slips an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his body. </p><p>“Our kids? How many?” you indulge him. </p><p>“Three,” he nuzzles the tips of your noses together. “With three, we can fit in the car on road trips.”</p><p>“Three little curly, caramel munchkins,” you nip at his nose, straining on your tiptoes to reach his bent head. </p><p>“I would like to see it,” he growls, mimicking your favourite meme. “Y/n, have kids with me.” You cannot tell if it’s a command or a question. </p><p>Wakatoshi kisses you, his soft lips pouring suggestion over your skin. As he deepens his kiss, you can feel the steadily growing bulge of his cock pressed against your belly. </p><p>“Now?” you joke.</p><p>“Yes,” he answers, without an ounce of jest in his voice, his growl suddenly dropping an octave. </p><p>“Y/n, I would like to plant my seeds inside you; it would be an honour to watch them grow. Will you let me do that?” Not for the first time, you marvel at the formal, sometimes poetic way he speaks. Today, it sends heat rushing straight to your core. </p><p>By now the gym is nearly empty, and next to the bleachers you are completely obscured from view. However, in a few minutes, it will begin to fill for the next game. Wakatoshi came with his team bus, and you took the train. Save finding an empty supply cupboard somewhere, you wouldn’t be able to have sex until much later that night, after his team returned from their victory dinner. </p><p>Wakatoshi has other plans. Pulling you towards the wall, he lifts the flap of black fabric and slips beneath the highest opening of the bleachers. After casting a glance around to make sure no one has noticed, you follow, heart pounding. Though the sides are obscured from view, the rows of benches have a narrow slit, about a hands-width tall, bringing more than enough light for you to see the hot-blooded look on Wakatoshi’s face, and the prominent outline of his formidable cock. </p><p>“Come closer,” he whispers. </p><p>“Ladies and gentlemen, the match between the MSBY Black Jackals and the Tali Red Kangaroos will commence in five minutes. Please take your seats,” the loudspeaker comes through as plainly as day; the presence of the bleachers does nothing to mask sound. </p><p>The rumble of feet across the stands startles you, though not as much as your boyfriend pushing you against the back wall and slipping his hand down the front of your jeans. Wakatoshi rains desperate, sultry kisses down your neck. You buck against him when his frantic fingers find your awaiting clit. </p><p>“Toshi, we shouldn’t. They’ll hear us!” you gasp. </p><p>“Then be quiet, my love,” his breath is hot against your ear. “You are so beautiful. I’m in love with you, with your skin. So rich, so brown, so soft, like freshly churned earth, ready to be planted,” he murmurs, sending your mind spinning with his fingers. Your trembling legs cease to function, and you would fall to the floor without his body pushed against you.</p><p>With half his muscular forearm now submerged in your high-waisted jeans, the waistband cuts into the soft flesh on your sides. Hurriedly, you unbutton it, peeling fabric down as far as you can. Wedged between a wall and a hulking volleyball player, you can only push your jeans and underwear down as far as your thighs, but it’s more than enough for Wakatoshi. </p><p>Your normally quiet boyfriend has a lot to say as his fingers passionately explore your pussy. His other hand rolls and squeezes your curvaceous ass, one of his favourite parts of your body. You love the way he stares at it when he thinks no one is looking, like he wants to take a bite right out of it. It’s what made you realise he was crushing on you in the first place.</p><p>“You would look so incredible carrying my kids,” he rumbles, slipping a finger inside you. “I want to fill you with my seed, again and again until it takes root.” </p><p>You gasp and whine from the sensation of his broad fingers and the novelty of hearing him say such filthy things. He fights between wanting to stretch you out, to get you ready for his length and girth, and wanting to be gentle. As he slips a second, massive finger inside, you let out a moan before clamping your lips shut, eyes wide as a saucer. Wakatoshi’s laughter is a rumble in his chest, you can feel it against your tits. </p><p>The pounding of feet on the stands stops. The crowd has taken their seats. You both know that if you make a mistake like that again, someone might hear you. Without warning, he spins you both around, pressing his back against the wall. Now, facing the court, you can see the players begin to line up. </p><p>“Shit,” you whisper. Wakatoshi is already prepared. Pulling his shorts down, you feel his cock spring up to slap your ass. Your yelp is muffled by his fingers, the ones that were just inside you, now clamped over your mouth, spreading your juices on your cheek. He slides his cock head over your slit, sending ripples of pleasure and anticipation up your spine. His hand stifles a groan as his tip enters your dripping hole. </p><p>There is a moment of silence before the team begins. Wakatoshi, giving not a single damn, slides straight into your pussy. You are so sopping wet that the sound of his cock slipping out of you is downright filthy. Everything is silent, save for the sucking and squelching as he pulls out of you ever so slowly, right to the tip, and the rumble of his groans every time he thrusts into your cunt again. You corkscrew your hips, throwing it back in smooth circles that drive him just as wild as the very first time you wined on him. From here, the sound is so loud that you worry that everyone can hear, but you wouldn’t want to stop him even if you could. You hope that the game begins and the crowd starts cheering so that they don’t hear the sinful noises from beneath the bleachers. </p><p>The moment seems to stretch forever, longer than any other match you have ever seen. In your head, every person in the gym is craning to hear the delicious sucking of Toshi’s stallion cock rutting into you.</p><p>Finally, <em>finally</em>, the whistle blows and the cheers begin. He increases his pace, slamming you from the back as his fingers over your mouth part your lips and slip inside. </p><p>“Suck on my fingers and stay quiet, my love,” he groans into your ear, railing you from the back, beneath everyone’s feet. </p><p>You slather his digits with your spit, relishing the taste of your own juice. Intermingled with cheers, you hear the slapping of your skin and the sound makes you feel weak. You would fall over if it weren’t for his firm arm around your waist. He removes his other hand from your mouth, hoisting you up so that only the tips of your shoes remain on the ground. From this angle, he can thrust deeper, ramming against that spot that sends you delirious. </p><p>“I want you so full of my cum you cannot move,” his words are ragged and breathless, you know how close he’s getting. </p><p>“Yeah? You wanna stuff me, Toshi? I wanna take it all in,” you clench your walls around his throbbing shaft to send him over the edge. </p><p>“So… tight,” he grunts. </p><p>“Cum for me. Fill me. I want your seed,” you moan, arching your back to take him in deeper. The groan that falls from his lips is unlike anything you’ve ever heard. Reams of hot liquid burst into you, his cock spewing like a geyser. You feel every single throb of his prominent vein against your cum-soaked walls. He stays inside, holding you close and heaving in shuddering breaths. You hear the smallest, quietest <em>fuck</em>, so startled and full of amazement that it makes you smile. </p><p>His tip is still pressed directly on your most sensitive spot, making you jerk with pleasure. As the pulses from his cock slow, he slips his fingers between your folds, finding your clit as though it were an extension of his own body.</p><p>All it takes is a few tight circles before you fall apart. The sensation of your climax over his sensitive head makes him hiss, hold you tighter as his fingers stroke you through it. Your cries are drowned by the cheers from the bleachers, fans that keep shouting long after you fall silent, panting in the glowing light. </p><p>“Clench,” he groans, his voice as dark and dirty as soil, “keep it all in. I need you to keep it in.”</p><p>This side of him is new to you, to the both of you. You gasp as his fingers leave your clit, sliding down to your entrance. The moment he pulls out, his fingers press upwards, covering your aching hole.</p><p>“Pull your jeans up.”</p><p>You stand upright, pulling your panties up over his hand, then your jet-black jeans. When your fingers find your zip, he slides his hand out to let you fasten them. You feel the squelch of his cum spilling out of you, coating your underwear. Ushiwaka looks unbearably pleased, his grin downright devilish. </p><p>“I want you to sit in my cum for the rest of the day. Will you do that for me?” </p><p>You nod, too flushed to speak. You never knew your boyfriend could get so <em>nasty</em>. Just when you thought he was done, he licks his fingers clean of your juice and his cum before planting a satisfied kiss on your parted lips. </p><p>Slipping out of the bleachers and out the back door, by the time you meet up with his team, all traces of that feral Wakatoshi are gone, in its place the stoic, serious player once more. All through the celebratory dinner, you feel his gaze upon you, grateful that you wore a long jumper so that no one else can tell how soaked you are as you sit there in your soiled panties.</p><p>His oblivious teammates are discussing plans to recruit a new player, breaking Ushijima from his dark, sultry thoughts. </p><p>“Of course we should draft him. Otherwise, it would be a waste of his talents. An excellent seedling needs suitably excellent soil. It can’t yield first-rate fruit on barren land,” he muses. </p><p>There is a moment of silence around the table. It dawns on you that Ushijima has often spoken with such metaphors: reaping and sewing, good harvests, all sorts of things he said that you never thought twice about before.</p><p>“What are you a fucking farmer?” Kageyama grunts, making the team burst into fond laughter. Ushijima shrugs, never apologetic for who he is. It’s something you and his team have come to love him for. What you love even more is the absolutely filthy look that flickers over his face the minute he catches your eye again. You know exactly what he intends to do the minute he gets you alone again. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Make Me Late.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>An excellent seedling needs suitably excellent soil. It can't yield first-rate fruit on barren land - Ushiwaka and his canon breeding kink.</p><p>For the entirety of your anniversary dinner, Ushijima Wakatoshi has been desperate to get his hands on you. Not only because you look divine, but also because he knows exactly what day of the month it is: the day when you are the most soft, most needy, most fertile. He knew from the moment you walked into the kitchen when he saw the look of hunger in your eyes, but it's still nothing compared to the look in his own. A full course meal lays before him, yet the man looks absolutely starved. The minute he gets you through the front door, he intends to devour you.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>soft, feral ushiwaka hours</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Since the first time Ushijima Wakatoshi pictured you pregnant (a thought that aroused him so fiercely, he immediately snuck you beneath the crowded bleachers and coated your insides with his cum), his proclivity for breeding you has only increased. When he gets in the mood, the man becomes hell bent on stuffing you full, ramming your cervix like he’s trying to bust a door open.</p><p>For the entirety of your date, he has been itching to take you home. Celebrating your three year anniversary and your first promotion since graduating college a year ago, you sit near the window of a high-rise restaurant, trying desperately to enjoy your dinner in the company of a man who can only be described as quietly feral.</p><p>Never mind the fact that you spent an hour wrestling your afro into a perfect halo, or that you look utterly divine in your shimmering, bronze pencil skirt and matching bustier, or even that the tantalising array of Japanese fusion food before you was specially curated by the head chef for your celebration, not one bit of it matters as much the voracious look darkening Ushijima’s eyes. A five course meal lies before you, yet the man is <em>hungry</em>. Had the table linen been any longer and your seats a little closer, he would have had his hands in every imaginable place he could reach without attracting attention.</p><p>The second that the last spoonful of molten chocolate and matcha-raspberry coulis pass through your plump, astonishingly glossy lips—for that you can thank Ms. McGrath—Ushijima’s hands grip the table edge so hard you worry he might rip it in two. Upon his face, a placid and collected expression remains; nothing but the whitening of his knuckles and the slightest creak of wood gives him away. He is one of the nation’s more recognisable faces, and this restaurant is a mainstay amongst Tokyo’s most successful (and gossip-hungry) crowds. As always, he cannot give anything away in public, certainly not the ravenous, filthy desires coursing through his veins, setting your skin alight beneath his blaze. He leans closer, you hold your breath.</p><p>“Darling,” he says, his low rumble somehow turning it into the nastiest word you have ever heard,  “I need you naked and stuffed full of my cum, right now, so pick up your purse and leave with me before I stop giving a damn that we’re in public.”</p><p>The vivid memory of sucking on your fiancé’s fingers to stop from crying out as he utterly railed you beneath hundreds of strangers assures you that his words are not some empty threat. The delightful promise of being split open on Ushiwaka’s cock has you nearly skipping out of the restaurant in your nude stilettos.</p><p>You barely enter the front door before he begins undressing you both, shirts flung overhead, shoes strewn across on the entrance rug. Behind you, Ushiwaka drops to his knees and still has to stoop his head to see the near-invisible zipper on your skirt. His wide fingers fumble on the absurdly narrow slider for only a moment before his impatience kicks in.</p><p>“Toshi! No—” you call out  the moment you feel his fingers grab hold. Too late. With a grunt, he rips the skirt open, making you gasp and clench more than your fists. “That was new!” You wail, even though you can feel your arousal slipping out of your seamless thong onto your thigh.</p><p>“I’ll buy you another one,” he growls before taking a generous bite out of your left ass cheek. The deliciously painful reminder of how much he adores your ass almost makes up for the ruined skirt. Almost.</p><p>With dizzying ease, he picks you up, carrying you to the bedroom with one hand as though you weigh no more than a wine glass. Though he has happily spread you over every surface of your apartment countless times, Ushijima always takes you in the bedroom when he wants to breed you, to make you <em>his</em>.</p><p>Your legs wrap around his waist as he unclasps your bra, dropping it unceremoniously with the rest of the unnecessary, bothersome articles of clothing. You are always naked first; he likes to make sure you’re completely ready to be ruined before he begins.</p><p>He lays you on the bed like a priceless treasure, spreads your thighs with his enormous hands and just <em>looks at you</em>, not once taking his eyes off your glowing, brown skin. Sometimes he acts like you hold all the wonders of the world between your legs. The way his green-gold eyes drink in every inch of you used to make you self conscious. Now, you know how much pride he takes in being yours, how much he adores you. The way he sees beauty, splendour, <em>a future </em>in you makes you feel endlessly powerful, yet incredibly safe. In his arms, whether tangled up in his sex-worn limbs or swaddled in his ridiculously large sweaters, the colour, the presence, the weight of your Black skin feels like a blessing, not a burden. Compared to your previous lovers and flings who put your ‘exotic features’ on a pedestal or claimed they ‘don’t see race,’ with Ushiwaka, you feel the lightness of being loved for everything you are, and more than what you look like.</p><p>Dropping onto the bed, he runs his mouth down your thigh, feeling your velvet flesh against his cheek, basking in the glow of your bronzy dark skin.</p><p>“You would be so beautiful pregnant,” he murmurs, “growing, like the rarest orchid in the richest soil. Let me leave a part of me inside you, let me claim your fertile soil as mine, please,” he whispers. The desperate rasp in his voice and the stunning poetry of his words makes your entire body flush. It still astounds you how beautiful his words. You used to tilt your head and frown at the way he spoke, find it so odd, as though he were from another century or talking in translation. How anyone could mistake him as simple or boring is beyond you, for there is an entire cosmos in his head and you feel lucky to see it.</p><p>Lowering his head, he gazes at your luscious slit, half-lidded and drunk on desire. Toshi showers your already-slick lips with hot, expectant kisses. On any other day he would worship you with his tongue, but today he can barely hold himself back, his mouth fervent and trembling as he fists his impatient length. Before long, his mouth is replaced by the glistening head of his full, flushed cock stroking your folds deliciously slowly, as though asking <em>are you ready, my love</em>?</p><p>You nod, knowing you stretched yourself out in the car ride home. The flashback of sitting beside him in the dark, your skirt hitched up as he navigated late-evening traffic, the car silent except for the salacious sound of your fingers scissoring your walls wider, now makes you moan and rut up against his shaft. You sink into the mattress, savouring the feeling of his warm hands on your body, one on your breast, stroking your pebbling nipple and the other on your hip. The weight on your skin is comforting, grounding, as he slides in between your sopping walls, the stretch making you hiss—your two fingers weren’t nearly enough to fully prepare you for his girth.</p><p>In his eagerness, he pumps into you, his fervent thrusts making your tits bounce. The scene—your legs spread open, one draped over his shoulder, the other wrapped around his waist, his body towering over you and his thick, meaty cock disappearing into your dark folds—is utterly pornographic.</p><p>You part your lips and utter word you never thought you would say, a word that made you wince until the day Ushiwaka sent you a text, a text that made you rush to the bathroom and fuck yourself for him on a video call: <b>call me daddy.</b></p><p>“Please, daddy.”</p><p>“Fuckkk,” he grunts, slowing his pace. With ravenous eyes, he watches his cock sliding out, glistening from your juices.</p><p>“Look at yourself,” he tells you, asks you, compels you, slowly pushing back in, your pussy taking him as seamlessly as soft, melting, sugary-browned butter. “Too fucking tight,” he grunts, moaning as his shaft nearly disappears. At the base, you see the glint of your thick, silky flow. “And so soft, <em>mmhh,</em> so fertile, <em>nnggh,</em> darling, how are you this soft?” You know he often marvels at the pillowy smoothness of your skin, the product of a pure cotton washcloth and your own special mix of shea butter, black seed castor oil, and baobab-neroli lotion. But this, the springy slick of your silken walls and the clear-syrupy strands of ovulation, is unlike any other feeling in the world.</p><p>You feel so deliciously full as he stretches you around his girth. You cry out, the sounds reverberating through the room and he lowers his face to captivate your mouth with his warm lips, desperate to ingest your moans as though your pleasure is his only sustenance. He can barely contain himself, groaning into your mouth with each thrust. He knew exactly what day to wait for, when you would be the most silky, the most juicy, the most needy for his seed. That morning he didn’t even need to stick his finger inside you to feel the gooeyness dripping from your cunt, he could just tell by the hungry look in your eye that you craved to be filled. The sensation of your walls is almost too much for him to bear; you have never felt so <em>soft</em>.</p><p>His hips falter, his thrusts quickly becoming erratic as he slides his cock through your tight hole. “Cum for me,” you whisper, beckoning his release. You know that this is only the first round, the shortest one. When he is less sensitive but certainly no less aroused, he plans to spend all night filling you over and over.</p><p>“Fill me up, I need you,” your voice is like an evening wind, lifting delicate, white curtains into the air. He may have all the power, but with those words, you are in control. He erupts inside you, ploughing his seed into your fertile soil. "Yes, stuff me daddy,” you continue to whisper into his ear, knowing it’s the only thing he’s thinking about, the only thing he needs to hear. Once he is completely empty, drawing ragged breaths, he falls still, staying inside you to plug up the cum, making sure none can slip out. There he stays, until he’s ready to go again, kissing and biting and sucking along your neck and jaw and behind your ears.</p><p>To prime him for another round, you sift your fingers through his hair, whispering filth about fertile soil. His hands caress your tender breasts, stopping just shy of being too rough. His tongue finds your nipple and he licks, sucks, pulls at your sensitive peaks with his firm lips, making you cry out in pleasure and pain. You feel him growing inside you, his cock twitching every time you clench your walls around him. Before long, he begins to send soft pulses into you. Over the sound of your intermingled breaths, you hear the delicious squelch of his cum being stuffed deeper, feel a few warm rivulets trickle out. Never one to waste, Ushi sends a hand down to collect the spilled cum, bringing it to your lips. A fire burns behind his eyes as he watches you suck every last drop from his fingers. With his digits slick, he finds your clit between your rolling bodies and starts to spin you senseless with circles on your desperate mound.</p><p>Ushi loves to watch you come undone under his fingers, around his cock. Your moans spur on his movements, making him harder, his fingers pressing on your clit, rolling it with such precision that you’re instantly pulsing, clenching his length and sucking his cum deeper into your womb.</p><p>"That’s right, love, take all my cum so daddy can fill you up again,” he coaxes your orgasm from you, a tight coil that strains to the point of breaking you before it suddenly snaps. You writhe beneath him, your rolling hips and spasming walls make his cock swell within you, the blissful look on your face takes him from firm to feral.</p><p>"More, please, more,” you pant and gasp, hands pulling him closer against your body, grasping at anything you can reach to draw him in. You want to feel every inch of his skin pressed against yours like a weighted blanket.</p><p>Ushiwaka grinds his hips, delicious circles that graze his cock head against your sensitive centre of pleasure. The motion makes cum spill out of you, sloppy and squelching, the sound making your toes curl. He hoists your hips up, cradling your ass in his lap and leaving only your shoulders and head on the mattress.</p><p>“You need to keep it all in, love. I still have far more to fill you with,” he growls as he picks up his pace, his cock hitting you harder, deeper, and at this angle you can already feel yourself building to another orgasm. When he removes a hand from your ass to grind his thumb against your clit, you scream. The sensations of his relentless strokes and his perfectly-placed digit shatter you from the inside out. Holding your breath, your body feels like compacted crystal. Ushi’s cock is a drill and his thumb is the diamond tip that cracks your body wide open. Waves of pleasure carry your scattered parts around the room, and Ushi fucks you through it, the only thing anchoring you to the ground. You have never felt so gloriously full, and though you wonder how any more of his cum can possibly fit, you know it will. It always does.</p><p>When you learn how to breathe again, after the scream has left your body and your lungs finally fill with air, he fucks you slowly, lazily, gazing down at you with a smug smile that reminds you he intends to fill you at least two more times. But he is merciful, he will take it slow, watch your next orgasm unfurl over him. Desperate for more than his agonising, mouth-watering pace, you run your nails down his thighs, clench your walls around him, anything to make him go faster. He won’t. In his own time, showering you with compliments, he cums, spurting into you like a fountain of life. </p><p>This time, he pulls out, marvelling at the way your hole flutters, craving him, drinking in the sight of your hungry cunt splashed with his seed. Then his gaze flicks up at you, and you feel a shift in him, from adoring to starving. From the way he bites his lip, squeezes your ass and <em>oh!</em> pinches your needy clit, you know that this is where it really begins. The beast that wants to breed you has awakened.</p><p>“I know you can take a whole lot more in there, love,” he vibrates. “Today, I’d like to beat my record.”</p><p>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</p><p>Ever since you came off contraception, you have found yourself more aroused than you ever thought possible. You certainly enjoyed your fiancé’s kink when he was your boyfriend, in college, and neither of you had any intention of making his desire to breed you real. However, now he is excelling on the national team and already has post-retirement job offers ranging from coach to sports tv host, and you have a dream job that allows you to work from home as the East Asian correspondent for Shelby Ivey Christie, a fashion historian revolutionising digital Black fashion literature. You would still need help from both your families, of course, being new parents this young is nerve-racking, but you both feel ready.</p><p>Though several months have passed since you first started trying, Ushiwaka’s desire and determination have never dipped. If anything, they’ve only grown as he has found filthier ways to to delight and torture you. One of those ways entails sending you rather explicit text messages without warning. Ushijima is the type of man to tell you exactly what he needs, never beating around the bush.</p><p><b>Need you to come down to the training ground, please</b>, his text reads. You waver, unsure of whether he merely left something at home or if his needs are more carnal in nature.</p><p><b>You</b><br/>Why, what’s up?</p><p><b>Toshi</b><br/>Want to make you pregnant. Come sit on daddy’s cock. Meet me in the store room. Bring those ribbons you were playing with.</p><p>You glance at the packs of thick, colourful ribbons littering your work table, preliminary research for an exhibition on Kansai Yamamoto’s most iconic pieces.</p><p><b>You</b><br/>It’ll take 10mins. What about practice?</p><p><b>Toshi</b><br/>Make me late.</p><p>You pull out two wide, crimson ribbons and wrap them up before bundling them into your bag. Changing out of your comfortable shorts, you don a figure-hugging dress that ends mid-thigh. You smooth your hands over your ass as you check your reflection in the mirror; your panty lines show. A smile creeps up your face as you strip out of your underwear toss it in your bag. You can’t wait to see the look on his face when you stuff them in his mouth to keep him quiet. Stepping into the brisk afternoon air, you take the five minute stroll from your apartment to the national team’s sprawling training campus, thinking of all the ways you’re about to make Ushiwaka come.</p><p>This isn’t the first time he has asked you over. The first time was your own doing: you stopped by when you knew he’d be on a break, his body still warm and salty from the sweat. You tied his hands to a shelf, threw your knees over his hips and started riding him with the door unlocked, daring one of his teammates to walk in. Kageyama did, once. He no longer looks you in the eye for more than a second. You always return his curt nod with a knowing smile.</p><p>You cannot wait to tie up your fiancé and take your time on his body. You know he could easily rip the fabric or even break the shelf, but he wants you to take him all in, ride him dry. He wants everyone to see their captain walk in after practice has already started, with marks on his neck and thighs, fabric burns on his wrist. It always makes him play better, rougher, work harder. He can’t wait to show you off all over again when your belly swells with his seed, when the entire country knows he bred you.</p><p>Rounding the corner, you bite your lip and your pulse soars the moment you lock eyes with him. Wordlessly, he swings the door open, making you squeeze your body against him as you enter through the narrow space he has left for you in the doorway. He towers over you, inhaling the scent of you, like a predator. But today, he wants you to devour him, own him, dominate him, take every last bit of his cum like it’s an offering.</p><p>He locks the door behind you, today he doesn’t want to be disturbed. You pull out the ribbon and drop your bag, pulling it taught between your fists before you issue your first command:</p><p>“Make me late.”</p>
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